Yosi,
Something is wrong.
You were doing something. What was it?
Your eyes won't focus and your arms feel numb.
No, that's not right. Your entire body is numb.
What happened?
There was something about magical paintings. There was a man. He…
No, it's not him.
And you are so very tired. Perhaps a short rest.
Yes. Sleeping like Ash.
No, wait. That was wrong. Ash shouldn't have been asleep.
Something is wrong.
From your left, something brushes your shoulder. It triggers a memory flash. Tiny legs crawling. Tiny mouths biting.
Your heart races. And then explodes. The pain doubles you over.
“Wake up, Yosi”. His voice is deep… soothing… and familiar. It chases the pain away and restores the world from the darkness you didn't even realize was smothering you.
You look up to see a golden, reptilian head inches from your face. Beyond the head, a massive, golden body gleams in a late afternoon sun, checkered with the shade from a row of trees.
Trees? What happened to the city? An indistinct thought begins to crawl from your memory. It was Southbay. There was a painter – who was also a wizard…
“I am Manorgrax, Yosi.” The voice snaps you back to this reality. The memory drains from your mind as his eyes meet yours. Two pools of perfect molten gold stare unblinking.
“The Serpent Kingdom is not yet defeated. Keep your body clean. The end of Sertrous begins when the two who are one breathe the Dragon's Breath.”
The words burn your ears. You flinch from sharp, but small pains as they echo over and over. “Sertrous” (ouch) “The two who are one” (ouch) “The Dragon's Breath” (ouch).
Over and over, the words tear tiny holes in your mind and body. At first, they are nothing more than pinpricks. Individually, they would hardly be noticed. But over time, they add up. The discomfort grows into pain. The pain into horror. The horror into tiny spiders. Tiny legs crawling. Tiny mouths biting.
And then, in a gasp, sensation returns to every inch of your body. The spiders are gone. Manorgrax is gone. The trees and their shade, as well.
But the words remain – as does the pain.
A watching, blue eye peers down from above and the pain begins to subside.
The eye doesn't blink. It just stares. After a few seconds, you realize it is painted on a man's robe. A man you have seen before. Ludvik, the priest in Southbay.
“Welcome back, Yosi. I am sorry we only seem to meet under such dire circumstances.”
You lie on an expensive bed. Nearby, a dour-looking man observes. “This doesn't change our deal,” he says to somebody nearby. “You still must find Imron.”